#or like just plunging a knife in between your ribs to see if they are also human

[thoughtyouwerentafraidofanything]

I was thinking maybe Kai loving the sight of his girl killing someone and smut with blood still on her from the victim, and he is praising her for being a good girl and letting her know how proud he is of her. Btw i loved the fic u posted its so good!!!😭

Kinda love this request, I'll try do it some justice. I apologise if it isn't what you were requesting.

Hot

Pairing: kai anderson x female reader

Summary: things get hot and heavy between you and kai in an alleyway beside a crime scene.

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder, smut, biting, hair pulling, praise.

Authors note: might write about a virgin Jeff pfister soon, don't know yet(thoughts???).

Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you felt kai press your body into the brick wall behind you, his hips against yours. You and kai were currently standing in an alleyway, your clown masks abandoned on the floor beside your feet.

"You done such a good job y/n" you heard kai praise in your ear as he began to tear at your tights. Your hands were busy unbuckling kai's belt, your breath would catch whenever your hand would brush against his very noticeable and present boner.

Kai loved the sight of you covered in someone else's blood, he'd be telling lies if he said the thought of you painted with it didn't make him hard at the slight thought, and the fact that he gets to fuck you moments after you just killed someone before you could clean the blood off your skin made his hips rut up into nothing in excitement.

"I always knew you could do it y/n"

Kai's tongue licked at your jaw as his hand slid into your underwear, his cold fingers rubbed along your slit before making their way back to your clit. You hips jolted into kai's hand, the swirling sensation his fingers were giving you made your stomach feel fuzzy.

Kai's mind was running through the scene that uncovered infront of him, he remembered how your body was straddling the much taller security guard, the knife you held plunging into his chest, one stab after another. You were a godess in that moment, a woman of death and torture.

The holes you made in the guards chest were spraying blood onto your body, but that didn't stop you.

Kai's hips pushed into you as he remembered the guard had pulled a gun on him without noticing you were walking to the entrance behind him. You pulled the knife above your head and shoved it into the security guards back, before turning him around and kicking him to the floor where you continued your actions.

"K-kai"

"You're so fucking beautiful right now "

Your hands were no longer at kai's belt but infact clawing to his shoulders, digging your nails into the fabric of his coat.

Kai's left hand held your neck in a possessive manner, you could only move if he wanted you to, he watched as the fresh droplets of blood ran down your face and fell on his thumb which was caressing your cheek.

His thumb now replacing his fingers down below, kai pressed down on your clit his fingers snaking their way towards your entrance. He couldn't even try to hide the smile from his face when he felt how wet you were for him.

His eyes trailed down your body, first taking in your blood covered face and the way the red liquid would gather at your lips making him want to kiss you, then the way your panties were pulled down enough so that he could see his hand being covered in your juices, he could only imagine what it looked like to see your pussy greedily sucking in his fingers.

The pressure was building in your lower abdomen as kai's fingers worked into you, the feeling of kai swiping something off of your face made you slowly open your eyes. Kai's thumb pushed past your lips and into your mouth, the taste of blood present as his finger pressed down on your tongue rubbing the blood all over your taste buds, you almost gagged at the taste but the feeling of kai's lips hastily pressing onto yours shut that instinct down as fast as it came up.

"I'm so proud of you y/n"

Not letting you catch your breath kai kissed you again this time for longer, his tongue pushed into your mouth and began to suck on your own, groans erupted from his throat as he could taste the blood from your mouth mix in with his saliva.

Using kai's left hand, he snaked his hand up the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your hair at the crown of your head and harshly pulled, the kiss between you and kai broke as your head was yanked back.

Kai stared at your neck for a while, the splatters of red decorated your skin nicely and all he could say was that red was definitely your colour.

Bringing his head closer kai's tongue licked at your exposed collar bone before dragging it up your neck, the feeling of his hot tongue against your cold skin made you swallow in shock.

His tongue lazily cleaned your neck, the wet blood collecting on kai's tongue and smearing across your skin even more.

"You're so good to me y/n"

You heard kai speak and felt his hand loosen it's grip on your hair until his hand was no longer near your head. Whining from the lack of attention your mouth and pussy was getting you huff deep breaths into the cold air, the moon lighting up the sky and emptying the streets.

The sound of kai's zipper being undone rang through your ears making your eyes snap back to him, his hands were pulling down his pants and reaching into his underwear pulling out his hard cock.

You felt kai's fingers pull your panties to the side, your eyes half lidded in exhaustion.

"Always so good to me"

The tip of kai was pressing against your entrance, his hand that was once fingering you was still covered in your juices, using those same finger kai spread it all over his dick readying himself.

Kai's head buried itself into the space where your neck and shoulder connected, his lips against your skin.

"Now it's my turn"

You felt kai's teeth bite down hard into your neck as he began to push into you, it took him two thrusts, the first to slowly press into you and the second was due to the feeling of you wrapped around him. Kai's mind went blank and his hips stuttered into you on their own.

"..to..be nice to...you"

Kai's hand grasped at your hip, the other tightly holding the underside of your thigh as he lifted it up to allow himself to reach deeper into you.

You mouth snapped open and your head leaned against the wall behind you, the scratches from the bricks not bothering you, your mind busy focusing on the way kai's cock was stretching out your entrance.

Your body jumped with every thrust kai gave, his eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was busy littering deep bite markings across your neck and shoulders.

"This is all for you y/n"

He slid himself almost completely out of your pussy before slamming back in.

"Because you're such a good girl"

His hands were pushing you down onto him by your hips.

"And because you look so fucking hot "

Police sirens screeched in the background, the loud noise getting closer and closer to the alleyway you and kai were stationed in. The blue and red lights lit up the dark sky, your head turned to the side and caught a glimpse of the bricks you were currently pushed up against changing colours, blue to red then back to blue.

You couldn't speak as kai's hand reached back down to your clit, this time rubbing in fast circles whilst pounding into you. This action caused you to let out a wail of pleasure.

"You feel amazing"

Your hand made its way into kai's hair, this time you were the one pulling at his strands harshly, this released some groans from kai as his thrusts became harder and deeper, everytime he would bottom out into you he would grind his hips onto you.

"Do you know how fucking good you looked stabbing him"

Using his other hand kai desperately grabbed at you tits through your clothes, his hand would harshly grab onto your flesh under the layers of clothing and squeeze gaining a whine from you in pain and pleasure.

"I want to see you do it again"

The voices of the police officers and orders coming through their radios grew louder, the thump of car doors being slammed shut echoed throughout the empty night.

"K-kai..people"

You tried to resist the ecstacy of kai's fingers rubbing against your most sensitive part and began to tap the back of his head and neck, warning him that the police could catch and arrest them.

"Just let me award you y/n"

You heard kai whisper into your ear, his tongue licked the shell of your ear then prodded at the hole before latching his teeth onto your earlobe.

"You deserve it"

You were biting your lip to keep the moans caused by kai sealed, the chance of you getting caught covered in blood with kai's dick shoved into you made you shiver in anxiety.

Your nails began to dig into the skin of kai's neck as your heart was pounding against the shell of your ribs, your back was arched pushing your front against kai's tensed stomach, your skin was covered in a light layer of sweat even though the air around you was cold.

Kai kissed you harshly, the taste of blood was no longer present in your mouth, by this time most of the blood had dried into your skin. Your lips were sore to touch as kai was biting down on them during the kiss.

You and kai were both very close.

His hips began to shake with every thrust into you, his pace fastened and moans began to leave kai's throat, the sound making you lean closer and closer to your orgasm.

The band in your stomach was tightening, ready to snap any moment.

"We got a possibly dead victim, bring out an ambulance "

Kai looked straight into your eyes

"Look at me"

The light slapping on your cheek made you unscrew your eyes and lazily look back at kai.

"Promise me you'll do it again"

Your mouth hung open, the feeling of kai's dick shoving itself into your pussy, dragging itself against your tight walls made your hips roll against kai's.

"Promise me y/n"

Before you could answer the knot in your stomach broke, kai's harsh thrusting finally pushed you over the edge, an animalistic moan left your throat as your eyes clamped shut. The feeling of you tightening around kai's cock made his eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

A few more thrusts was what kai could take before snapping his hips into you one last time and spilling his cum into you. You were already coming down fro your high and the feeling of being filled up by kai made another whine escape your lips.

You both stood there for a while, kai's now soft dick still inside you as his head rested against your heaving chest, his hips would roll into a couple of times as he himself was coming down from his orgasm.

Your shaky hand ran itself through kai's hair, you could feel his hot breath fanning onto your collar bones.

Finally pulling himself out of you kai shoved his dick back into his underwear pulling up his pants and redoing his belt. Your knees buckled a little when you stood up without the support of kai's body against yours.

You slowly shimmeyed your underwear to fully cover you again and pulled up your now loose tights, completely ignoring the large tears in the crotch area.

Kai's hand reached out to your hair, smoothing down the fly-aways .

"I always believed in you y/n"

#ahs #ahs smut #ahs cult #american horror story cult #ahs cult smut #american uorror story cult smut #kai anderson #kai anderson smut #ahs kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters smut

[god-of-fandoms]

Here it is - a scene from my familiar faces au! I hope you enjoy it!

Tw: cursing, eye trauma, mentions of arranged marriage

---

Nya grunts in pain as she's thrown to the floor for what seems like the fiftieth time tonight. Scrap N' Tap is always rough - she has her growing collection of scars to account for that - but tonight seems different. Colder, somehow, and so much harsher than ever before. Her ribs are bruised to hell and the blood filling her mouth indicates that she's lost a tooth. The chuckling of the crew slowly falls silent, and her blood begins to run cold as a shadow looms in front of her.

Of fucking course. Why else would the pirates stop holding back unless he wanted something?

"Oh, my dear," and FSM the way Nadakhan calls her that in his sickly sweet tone just makes her want to throw up, "I can tell you're tiring of all of this. Why don't you just give in and stop all this pain?"

Nya spits out a mouthful of blood (and what she's almost certain is one of her incisors) at the djinn. "For the last time, dickbag," she hisses at his disapproving glare, "I'm not wishing for shit."

Nadakhan sighs as he floats closer, ignoring her attempts to flinch back. One thing she’s learned since being stuck on the misfortune? The captain has no fucking sense of personal space. It’s a trait that makes her shiver with disgust, especially when conversation circles back to the reason theyre stuck in this tango.

Speaking of which…

“My crew have been searching day and night, and your friends are still nowhere to be found.” Nadakhan’s golden eyes steadily burn a hole into her soul. She looks away, favoring the sight of her blood dripping onto the deck over that of the djinn’s face. “It seems that they are particularly good at hiding where I cannot see. But, my dear, you’ll come to find-” he grabs Nya’s throat in a bruising grip, ripping a strangled gasp from between her teeth as she's choking again, she can't breathe she can't breathe she can't breathe - "I always find what I'm looking for eventually. The other ninja will be in my grasp within the month, and once I have them? They will know pain like nothing they have known before, I swear to you."

He throws her to the floor once again. Her bruised ribs cry out in agony, but the feeling of air entering her lungs again drowns out the now familiar pain. A calloused hand finds its way to her hair, twisting a loose strand, and once again Nya has to fight back the urge to vomit.

"It doesn't have to be that way if you could just tell me where to find them. I can be merciful, and while it cannot be denied that I used to despise you for destroying Djinjago, it was not your intention to do so. Ever since you joined us-" ha, joined as if my only other choice wasn't to let you have him - "I have found it harder to argue against your usefulness. You would make a brilliant pirate, my dear."

Nya gives the djinn no response other than a scoff. She would rather die a million times than to see the day she'd willingly take orders from this son of a bitch. He sighs and turns his back on her, floating towards the center of the Scrap N' Tap arena. She wishes she had a knife to plunge into his spine.

"Your friends would not need to suffer, either, as long as they agreed to cooperate as well. I could let you all help me in my rule over Ninjago. It is... unfortunate that your brother and the nindroid were too late for this deal, but once I have my Delara back and receive infinite wishes I could be persuaded to bring them back-"

"HIS NAME IS JAY, YOU BASTARD!"

Nadakhan freezes. The rest of the crew falls eerily silent as well. Nya has been in control of water long enough to know that this is what it feels like in the calm before a raging storm.

"What did you just say to me?" The djinn asks, his words knife sharp. He turns to face her once again, and shit he's fucking enraged. It takes everything in Nya to glare back at him when her brain is telling her it's not safe run away DANGER RUN-

"His name is Jay, not Delara. I don't give a shit that he looks like your dead fucking fiancee - they could be twins for all I care - that doesn't change the fact that he's his own person. Delara is dead, Captain, and I'd rather gouge out my own eye than let you marry him because you think it will bring her back."

Nadakhan's nostrils flare as he flies towards her, arm outstretched as if to hit her. Nya can't help it - she flinches away, squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for the blow to come.

It doesn't.

After a few tense seconds, she looks up again. Nadakhan floats there, a peaceful look across his face as if he hadn't appeared ready to end her fucking life a moment before. Has he somehow managed to calm himself down

"Let me get this straight, my dear," and nope, he's even more angry than he was before, if the way his words drip with icy venom are a hint of his current emotional state, "Despite what you say about your precious Jay, I'd know my beloved anywhere. He may go on believing that he is not her, but once I have him in my grasp - and I will have him - he'll be whoever I say he is. And once I wed him and gain infinite wishes, I will be able to bring back the soul of my beloved Delara from the departed realm. With her spirit in his body, we will be reunited at last!"

Nya has to actively fight her nausea as she looks at the djinn's dreamy expression. Pure unadulterated horror courses through her. She knew that the djinn wanted to marry Jay under the delusion that he was a reincarnation of his bitchass fiancee, but for him to blatantly admit that he didn't give a single shit about Jay's thoughts and feelings on the matter - to admit to his plan of letting Delara permanently possess his body??? - makes her actively sick.

"You're a monster," she gasps, and it only makes him grin sadistically. "Jay will never marry you! He'll fight back every step of the way, and so will I!"

"My dear, Jay doesn't get a choice. No matter what, I will wed him and we will rule Ninjago together. And as for you..." His grin only grows wider as he looks away from her to admire the gleaming metal of his hook. He gestures to Dogshank and before she knows it the beast of a woman is restraining her, and despite her struggling she won't budge. "You're very against this wedding, aren't you? In fact, if my memory hasn't betrayed me, I recall you saying you'd 'rather gouge out your own eye than let me marry him'.

Nya freezes. The djinn is getting closer, too close, and the way he's gazing at his hook sends a bolt of terror through her. "I - I didn't actually mean that!" she stutters as her efforts in struggling against Dogshank double in intensity. She's completely unable to move, however, and her breathing gets harder and faster as Nadakhan raises the curved blade to just above her left eye. He wouldn't really, would he?

Nadakhan pauses, golden eyes roaming over her terrified face with amusement. "You didn't?" He asks, faux disappointment drowning his voice. He begins to pull away his hook, and the sigh of relief she lets out is embarrassingly audible.

"I guess I'll just have to do it myself, then!"

The hook pierces her eye.

The pain is instant and blinding. it's so much worse than every other injury she's faced as a ninja. It courses through her veins, hot and heavy, with no sign of stopping.

The hook digs deeper and though she can't hear anything she knows she lets out a scream as she feels it tear through her eye, ripping through nerves and tissue. The pain whites out her brain, she can't think of anything else, she can't breathe, she can't see-

It feels like minutes of agony as the blade twists and digs through her eye socket, hell bent on causing as much pain as possible. It's working. She simultaneously can't feel anything but her eye and feels every inch of her body as all of her nerves echo with pure blinding excruciation.

Then the hook freezes, and she's only given a brief reprieve from the pain before it yanks out of her socket, taking her eye with it.

The blinding pain overwhelms her again as nerves are ripped from the space her eyeball occupied moments before. Through her ringing ears, she can hear someone screaming. A minute later, she realizes that those are her cries.

She's dropped unceremoniously to the floor by Dogshank, where she lies in a growing pool of her own blood. The pain is still coursing though her, but it slowly ebbs... along with her consciousness.

Through rapidly closing eyes - eye, she only has one now - she can see Nadakhan as he floats towards her crumpled form. He lifts her chin gently, seemingly admiring his handiwork. Not has never been this tired. At this point, the pain is set aside as her body shuts down. Nadakhan tuts at her visible exhaustion and wipes away her tears (when did she start crying? She can't bring herself to care).

"Poor girl," he mumbles, his mournful tone a sharp contrast to the (rapidly blurring) smirk on his face. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you had just told me what I wanted to know."

Fuck that. She gathers the last of her strength as she glares at him and rasps, "'m not tellin' you shit".

Nadakhan scowls, but it quickly turns into a self satisfied smile. "Even in a time like this, you still have your fire. Good. And as for you 'not telling me shit', I believe you now. But mark my words, my dear..."

Nya is drifting off; Nadakhan's voice is getting more and more muffled as she sinks into her exhaustion. The last thing she hears are the djinn's parting words to her.

"Jay and the rest of your friends will be mine eventually. In fact, I doubt I'll have to look much longer. I guarantee you that they'll come to me themselves."

---

SO DO WE LIKE IT

this took me a crazy short amount of time compared to most of my writing. I'll have to thank @tornoleander for that because I listened to the girl with one eye (Florence + the machine) like you mentioned when talking abt my au and DAMN it got me in the mindset for this like nothing else lemme tell you. If there were to be a ff!au playlist at some point that would definitely be on it (along with nothing by Emily autumn because that gives me serious jay and nadakhan vibes lol)

Im probably gonna edit this soon because I'm so tired and this is probably shit rn. Bear with me though the typos fam.

anyway I really hope you all like this! Your feedback is always important to me so tell me what you think.

as always, feel free to ask me anything about this fic! I'm always happy to answer your questions :D

Thanks for reading this! I hope it makes you more excited about this au.

Have a lovely day!

-Lee :)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lee’s fics #ninjago skybound #familiar faces au #ff!au #ff!nadakhan #ff!nya #ITS DONE YAYYYYY #low-key this is my favorite thing I've ever wrote #at least for now #stay tuned for more! #also the for all the support #it means a lot to me #love you all <3

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part twenty-one

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: nothing much! just ✨kaz✨ haha

series masterlist

“May the Saints receive me,” her words came out in a shallow breath. She pressed the tip beneath her breast, between her ribs, an arrow to her heart. Then a hand gripped her wrist painfully, forcing her to drop the blade.

“Not just yet, Y/N.”

The rasp of stone on stone. Her eyes flew open. Kaz.

He bundled her into his arms and leaped down from the crates, landing roughly, his bad leg buckling. 

She moaned as they hit the ground.

“Did we win?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He must be running. Her body jounced painfully against his chest with every lurching step. He couldn’t carry her and use his cane. 

“I don’t want to die.” 

“I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.”

She closed her eyes.

“Keep talking, Phoenix. I can’t let you slip away from me.” 

“But it’s what we do best.”

He clutched her tiger. “Just make it to the schooner. Open your damn eyes, Y/N.”

She tried. Her vision was blurring, but she could make out a pale, shiny scar on Kaz’s neck, right beneath his jaw. “You have a scar.” 

“Where?”

“Right,” she pulled her hand up with much struggle and ghosted her finger over the mark. “Here.”

“We all have scars.” His voice was rough and slightly strained with effort. 

“How did you get it?”

He didn’t answer right away and when he did, he avoided giving her the answer she wanted. “Scars tell the stories of our lives. Where we’ve been and who has crossed our paths.”

A ghost of a smile graced Y/N’s lips. “You sound like a certain Suli I’ve grown fond of.”

“Company corrupts company.”

Her mind started getting fuzzy, nothing staying clear long enough for her to focus. She knew she was supposed to tell him something but she couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Talk to me, L/N.”

“You came back for me.”

“I protect my-” he cut himself off. “You. I’ll protect you.”

She hummed and moved her head closer to his neck so her hair brushed against his jaw. Her lips parted as she remember what she needed to tell him. He owed her an apology. “Say you’re sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just say it.”

She didn’t hear his reply as the world around her grew darker and faded into her mind.

~

Kaz limped aboard the schooner with Y/N in his arms and shouted, “Get us out of here!” The sails were already trimmed, and they were on their way out of the harbor in moments, though not nearly as fast as he would have liked. He knew he should have tried to secure some Squallers for the journey, but he was too occupied to write to Nikolai. 

There was chaos on the deck, people shouting and trying to get the schooner as quickly as possible. 

“Specht!” he yelled at the man he had chosen to captain the vessel. “Get your crew in shape before I start cracking skulls.

The pain in Kaz’s leg was terrible, the worst it has been since he’s first broken it falling off the roof of a bank near Geldstraat. It was possible he’d fractured the bone again. Y/N’s weight wasn’t helping, but when Jesper stepped into his path to offer help, Kaz shoved past him. 

“Where’s Nina?” Kaz snarled.

“Seeing to the wounded below. She already took care of me.” Dimly Kaz registered the dried blood on Jesper’s thigh. “Wylan got dinged during the fight. Let me help you-”

“Get out of my way,” Kaz said, and plunged past him down the ramp that led belowdecks. 

He found Nina tending to Wylan in a narrow cabin, his hands drifting over his arm, knitting the flesh of the bullet wound together. It was barely a graze.

“Move,” Kaz demanded, and Wylan practically leaped from the table. 

“I’m not finished-” began Nina. Then she caught sight of Y/N. “Saints,” she swore. “What happened?”

“Knife wound.”

The cramped cabin was lit by several bright lanterns and a stash of clean bandages had been laid out on a shelf beside a bottle of camphor. Gently, Kaz placed Y/N on the table that had been bottled to the desk. 

“That’s a lot of blood,” Nina said on a low breath.

“Help her.”

“Kaz, I’m a Heartrender, not a real Healer.”

“She’ll be dead by the time we find one. Get to work.”

“You’re in my light.”

Kaz stepped back into the passageway. Y/N lay perfectly still on the table, her luminous skin dull in the swaying lamplight.

He was alive because of Y/N. They all were, They’d managed to fight their way out of a corner, but only because she’d prevented them from being surrounded. Kaz knew deth. He could feel its presence on the shop now, looming over them, ready to take his Phoenix. His Saint. He was covered in her blood.

“Unless you can be useful, go away,” Nina said without looking up at him. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He hesitated, then stomped back the way he’d come, stopping to purloin a clean shirt from another cabin. He shouldn’t be this shaken up by a dock brawl, even a shoot-out, but he was. Something inside him felt frayed and raw. It was the same feeling he’d had as a boy, in those first desperate days after Jordie’s death. 

Say you’re sorry. That was the last thing Y/N had said to him. What had she wed him to apologize for? There were so many possibilities. A thousand crimes. A thousand unspoken words and a thousand words he couldn’t take back.

On deck, he took a deep breath of sea air, watching the harbor and Ketterdam fade from view on the horizon. 

Jesper was leaning against the railing, his rifle beside him. His hair was mussed, his pupil dilated. He seemed almost drunk, or like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed. He always had that look after a fight. Helvar bent over the railing, vomiting. Not a sailor, apparently. At some point, they’d need to shackle his legs again.

“We were ambushed,” Wylan said from his perch on the forecastle deck. He had his sleeve pushed up and was running his fingers over the red spot where Nina had seen to his wound. 

Jesper shot him a sarcastic look, “No offense, my love, but with private tutors from the university and all you come up with is that?” ‘We were ambushed’?” 

Wylan redened and muttered an apology. 

“Geels doesn’t have the brains or the recourses to bite back this fast or hard alone,” Kaz said.

“You sure? Because it felt like a pretty big bite.”

“Let’s ask.” Kaz limped over to where Rotty has stashed Oomen. 

I stuck your soldier, Oomenn had giggled when Kaz spotted him curled up on the ground. I stuck her good. Kaz had glanced at the drying blood that settled over his mouth and said, Looks like she got you, too. He quickly knocked the enforcer out and had Rotty retrieve him while he went to find Y/N.

Now Helvar and Jesper dragged Oomen over to the rail, his hands bound.

“Stand him up.”

With one huge hand, Helvar hauled Oomen to his feet.

Oomen grinned, his thatch of coarse white hair flat against his wide forehead. 

“Why don’t you tell me what brought so many Black Tips out in force tonight?” Kaz said.

“We owed you.”

“A public brawl with guns out and thirty men packing? I don’t think so.”

Oomen snickered. “Geels doesn’t like being bested.”

“I could fit Geel’s brains in the toe of my boot, and he has no more scourses inside the Dregs.”

“Maybe he-”

Kaz interrupted him. “I want you to think real careful now, Oomen. Geels probably thinks you’re dead, so there are no rules of barter here. I can do what I want with you.”

Oomen spat in his face.

Kaz took a handkerchief from his coat and carefully wiped his face clean. He thought of Y/N lying still on the table, her slight weight in his arms. 

“Hold him,” he told Jesper and the Fjerdan. Kaz flicked his coat sleeve, and an oyster-shucking knife appeared in his hand. At any given time he had at least two knives stashed somewhere in his clothes. He didn’t even count this one, really- a tidy, wicked little blade.

He made a neat slash across Oomen’s eye- from brow to cheekbone- and before Oomen could draw a breath to cry out, he made a second cut in the opposite direction, a nearly perfect X. Now Oomen was screaming.

Kaz wiped the knife clean, returned it to his sleeve, and drove his gloved fingers into Oomen’s eye socket. He shrieked and twitched as Kaz yanked out his eyeball, its base trailing a bloody root. Blood gushed over his face.

Kaz heard Wylan retching. He tossed the eyeball overboard and jammed his spit-soaked handkerchief into the socket where Oomen’s eye had been. Then he grabbed Oomen’s jaw, his gloves leaving red smears on the enforcer’s chin. His actions were smooth, and precise, as if her were dealing with cards at the Crow Club or picking an easy lock, but his rage felt hot and mad and unfamiliar. Something within him had torn loose.

“Listen to me,” he hissed, his face inches from Oomen’s. “You have two choices. You tell me what I want to know, and we drop you at our next port with your pockets full of enough coin to get you sewn up and buy you passage back to Kerch. Or I take the other eye, and I repeat this conversation with a blind man.”

“It was just a job,” blabbed Oomen. “Geels got five thousand kruge to bring the Bacl Tips out in force. We pulled in some Razorgulls, too.” 

“Then why not more men? Why not double your odds?”

“You were supposed to be on the boat when it blew! We were just supposed to take care of the stragglers.”

“Who hired you?”

Oomen wavered, sucking on his lip, snot running from his nose.

“Don’t make me ask again, Oomen,” Kaz said quietly. “Whoever it was can’t protect you now.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“And I’ll make sure you wish for death, so you must weigh those options.”

“Pekka Rollins,” Oomen sobbed. “It was Pekka Rollins!”

Even through his own shock, Kaz registered the effect of the name on Jesper, Wylan, and the Fjerdan.

“How is this possible?” Kaz gritted out, “He’s in Hellgate.”

“He took control of it all quick enough, rumor has it.” Oomen nodded his agreement to Helvar’s words.

“Saints,” groaned Jesper. “We are so screwed.”

“Is Rollins leading the crew himself?” Kaz asked.

“What crew?”

“To Fjerda.”

“I don’t know about no crew. We were just supposed to stop you from getting out of the harbor.”

“I see.”

“I need a medik. Can you take me to a medik now?”

“Of course,” said Kaz. “Right this way.” He took Oomen by the lapels and hoisted him off his feet, bracing his body against the railing.

“I told you what you wanted!” Oomen screamed, struggling. “I did what you asked!”

Despite Oomen’s knobby build, he was deceptively strong- farm strong like Jesper. He’d probably grown up in the fields. 

Kaz leaned in so that no one else could hear it when he said, “My soldier would counsel mercy. But thanks to you, she’s not here to plead your case.”

Without another word, he tipped Oomen into the sea.

“No!” Wylan shouted, leaning over the railing, his face pale, stunned eyes tracking Oomen in the waves. The enforcer’s pleas were still audible as his maimed face faded from view.

“You… you said if he helped you-”

“Do you want to go over, too?” asked Kaz.

Wylan took a deep breath as if sucking in courage and sputtered, “You won’t throw me overboard. You need me.”

‘Why do people keep saying that?’ “Maybe,” said Kaz. “But I’m not in a very rational mood.”

Jesper set his hand on Wylan’s shoulder. “Let it go.”

“It’s not right-”

“Wylan,” Jesper said, giving him a little shake. “You do not argue with a man covered in blood and a knife up his sleeve.”

Kaz watched Wylan press his lips into a thin line, unable to tell if he was frightened or furious, either way, he didn’t care. Helvar stood silent sentinel, observing it all, looking seasick green beneath his blonde beard.

Kaz turned to Jesper. “Fit Helvar with some shackles to keep him honest,” he said as he headed below. “And get me clean clothes and fresh water.”

“Since when am I your valet?”

“Man with a knife, remember? He said over his shoulder.

“Man with a gun!” Jesper called after him.

Kaz replied with a time-saving gesture that relied heavily on his middle finger and disappeared belowdecks. He wanted a hot bath and a bottle of brandy, but he’d settle for being alone and free of the stink of blood for a while. 

Pekka Rollins. The name echoed in his brain like gunfire. It always went back to the man who took everything from him. Would he never catch a break? He almost walked back to the door of his cabin and called for Y/N. Instead, he sat in the old wooden chair and leaned back, trying to get rid of the burning memory of her face as he rushed them to the schooner. 

A ghost of a smile graced Y/N’s lips. “You sound like a certain Suli I’ve grown fond of.”

“Company corrupts company.”

His mind screamed at him to keep conversation with her as her body got heavier with every fleeting moment. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t. Not when he was closer to having her. 

“Talk to me, L/N.”

“You came back for me.”

“I protect my-” Kaz cut himself off. Not investments. She wasn’t his investment, she was more. He wanted her to be more to him than the other crows. Just to think of her in that way caused an ache in his chest, knowing the only thing stopping it was himself. “You. I’ll protect you.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

[seasaltandcopper]

vampire hunter AU Pt 2

[Prev] | [Next]

Summary: Mal is handed over to Teddy by the vampire hunters.

(This one got longer than I expected, and is still mostly set up for the story and dynamics, but it's also chock full of whump, so I feel like I'm splitting the difference.)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of torture, blood and gore, violence, manhandling, nonsexual nudity, imprisonment, starvation, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun (only used by one character)

“Mal.”

One word. One name. It dropped from the hunter’s lips and snagged Mal’s attention like a fishhook through the gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone say his real name out loud.

Years, probably.

And now it spat from the mouth of this woman, this hunter, like a curse. Like some personal ax she had to grind with him.

Like she knew him.

Stiffly, Mal raised his head enough to get a better look at her. Short. Subtly curvy, but muscular. Dark skin, deep brown eyes, well-kept hair, all leather and denim and piercings with an attitude to match. The ensemble practically screamed, pick a fight with me and see what happens.

Teddy smelled like clean sweat, gun oil, and the intoxicating vibrancy of blood flowing through her veins. Life. Food.

God, he was starving. He was so fucking hungry it hurt. More than hurt. Hurt was a broken arm, a knife digging between his ribs, the burn of a cigarette put out on the arch of his foot—this was closer to losing a piece of his soul. Feeling it shredded and screaming in agony without relief.

Mal swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth before he choked on it, and tried to ignore the twisting in his gut as the smell of them permeated the cramped space. He held Teddy's gaze, sunken eyes peering out through a mess of filthy hair, but the flash of recognition he hoped for never came. She stayed unfamiliar. A stranger.

But one who obviously thought she knew him.

“Today’s your lucky day, bloodsucker,” she said, eyes flint-hard and sharp enough to cut. “You’re coming home with me.”

What?

Mal blinked. It took longer than it should have for reason to catch up and plunge icy fingers past the fog of exhaustion and pain. He’d expected—well, more of the usual. Another guest looking to blow off some steam, or getting “justice” for someone Mal had likely never laid eyes on in his life.

This wasn’t the first time the hunters had brought in a friend; honestly, the bleak-humored side of Mal was surprised they hadn’t thought to charge admission. Probably could’ve made a nice little profit on the side.

Still, the script stayed the same: they took him out to hurt him, and after they got tired or bored or felt they made their point, someone dragged Mal back to his box. Time passed, alone, in the dark—sometimes hours, sometimes days—before he was fed just enough blood to heal the worst of his wounds.

Then the cycle repeated.

Over and over and over. A horrific, never ending nightmare, but a familiar one.

Leaving with another human—no, a hunter, who knew his name, how did she know his name, who was she?—smashed every established pattern to pieces. Unease tangled like thorny brambles inside his rib cage, clawed at the back of his throat.

Mal couldn’t ask what the hell she meant; he couldn’t even open his mouth, muzzled like this. Cautiously, he glanced towards Brooks, hoping for some kind of clarification.

The hunter chuckled. Hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and leaned back against the wall, smug as could be. The nasty glint in his eyes sent a cold tremor down Mal’s spine; he dropped his gaze back to his lap.

Brooks was one of the ones who’d taken a personal liking to Mal, early on. Back when they’d been uncommonly cruel in their attempts to wear him down, testing the limits of their creativity with techniques that still left Mal nauseous to think about.

If Mal’s heart had been capable of more than sluggish, off tempo beats, it would’ve raced.

“You got your own restraints for transport, or should I write up a slip for loaner gear?”

Reaching behind to unclip something from her belt, Teddy flashed a standard issue set of cuffs and a muzzle, then tossed it to him. “Here.”

Brooks snagged the gear out of the air. Stepped away from the wall with a sigh. Tensing, Mal pulled in a shallow breath through his nose, and watched Brooks out of the corner of his eye. The man’s black-polished boots crunched on the grit strewn floor.

The woman made a noise at the back of her throat. Derisive. “And hose him down or something before you bring him out. Smells like someone left roadkill in a hot van.”

Brooks snorted. A half-beat later, the toe of his shiny, black-polished boot slammed into Mal’s hip. It tore a pained exhale from him as he lurched to the side, the clatter of metal singing against brick. Catching himself on his forearm, Mal winced at the stripe of skin he lost for his trouble. Blood welled up in dark beads, staining the pale firebrick with more of the same.

Dead blood.

It wouldn’t satisfy like fresh, human blood would. It didn’t smell like anything at all. But the sight of it still tied Mal’s insides in knots as the instinct to feed spiked in response.

All his body understood was that it was starving, and that looked like blood, even if logic knew it was only a trick.

“Look, I don’t give a shit about the transfer order. Whatever. You want the vamp, you can have it. But we’re not runnin’ a grooming service. You want the thing washed and styled, do it on your own damn time.” Eyes still on the other hunter, Brooks tangled a gloved fist in Mal’s hair and hauled him upright. “Alright, shitsucker, let’s go. Up.”

Scrambling to get his legs under himself before Brooks left him with a bald patch, Mal twisted and choked on the words trapped in his throat. The sudden shift in gravity left his head spinning, limbs somehow both too stiff, and too wobbly to fully bear his weight.

Legs shaking, Mal planted his feet as best he could, but stayed on his feet. Barely. 

Just do it. Hurry up and get it over with, I can’t—

Brooks came to the same conclusion a second later. He hissed an irritated sigh, and released his grip on Mal's hair. Unsupported, Mal sagged on his feet, brows pinched in a pained grimace.

“Lazy motherfucker,” Brooks muttered. “Told you. Give ‘em an inch…”

Yeah, and I'd tear your throat out, you fucking bastard.

Strong fingers dug into Mal’s arm as Brooks worked to unlock the manacles. Heavy iron clattered to the bricks. Then again, as Brooks stooped and did the same for Mal’s ankles.

Without the added weight, Mal felt marginally steadier on his feet. And uncomfortably naked.

Gingerly, he ghosted bony fingers over the red, raw patches of skin circling his wrists. Black humor bubbled in Mal’s chest, and he swallowed back a laugh. Now he felt naked—without the extra pounds of iron weighing him down—but not because he hadn’t worn clothes in years.

On his list of priorities, Mal's desire for pants had dropped depressingly low over the years.

At least when Brooks cuffed him again, arms behind this time, he left Mal’s ankles unshackled. The muzzle went last, and a part of Mal hated himself for the way he tilted his head without prompting, obediently offering Brooks better access to the buckles; the rest of him didn’t give a shit, as long as it got the fucking thing off faster.

Brooks tugged it, giving the muzzle a disgusted look as no small amount of crusted gunk and scabbed tissue pulled free too. Mal barely noticed. After days suffocating in the thing, he was just glad to have it off.

He sighed. Worked his jaw, and held back a groan as sore muscles twinged all the way down his neck. Dried bits of filth Mal definitely did not want to identify crumbled loose with the movement. More of it itched under his nose and around his mouth, but the worst still matted the scruffy mess of facial hair stubbornly clinging to his jaw.

Even when they deigned to leave the muzzle off, there was only so much grooming he could do without access to water or rags or full use of his hands.

At some point Mal just gave up trying.

Gloved fingers snagged his chin, pulling Mal from his thoughts. He flinched. Not enough to pull loose—even reacting blindly Mal was smarter than that—but enough to earn an amused snort.

“Maybe it could use a hose down,” Brooks muttered. He ghosted a leather-clad thumb over Mal’s chin, squinting. “Ehh.” Then shrugged, wiped his finger clean on Mal’s shoulder, and lifted the replacement muzzle to fit in place.

Mal shivered as worn leather kissed his skin again. It sat overlapping some of the bleeding lines chafed by the old one, bright stinging pain sinking into a deeper, throbbing burn as Brooks cinched the straps tight.

At least this one was purely to prevent accidental bites—just a simple, boxy wire guard and leather straps—not like the ones Mal was used to, meant to completely immobilize the jaw.

He could still open his mouth. Take a real, full breath. Run his tongue over the outside of his teeth, or lick his lips. Talk.

This was fine. Mal could deal with this. This was—better.

After double checking his handiwork, Brooks laid a heavy palm on the back of Mal’s neck. He tensed, visceral disgust tingling down his back and making his skin crawl. Touch didn’t carry many pleasant connotations these days, but being touched by Brooks left Mal feeling genuinely sick.

The hunter squeezed once, pinching with his index finger and thumb. A warning.

“Let’s go,” Brooks ordered. “Move.”

Gentle pressure turned to a vice grip, and Mal hissed. His entire body was an ugly patchwork of marks—welts, burns, the scabbed over remnants of a recent caning, bruises layered on bruises; and his neck was no exception.

Brooks’ fingers molded themselves to older blue-green imprints, pressing hard. A sharp boot-tap to the knobby part of Mal’s ankle followed, and he cringed at the pathetic, wounded-animal sound that rose in his throat. Lurching forward, he struggled to stay on his feet and limp along at Brooks’ pace.

“I’m—trying,” Mal rasped, frustrated. He tripped again on the lip of the kiln. Would’ve fallen if Brooks hadn’t literally had him by the scruff. Shit.

The world pitched. Dark spots burst across Mal’s vision.

“Quiet.”

Fuck you.

Teddy followed silently, a dark smudge in the corner of Mal’s vision as Brooks manhandled him out of the room. Up one flight of concrete stairs. And another. Past the living quarters, and then into a part of the compound Mal only remembered seeing once: a pair of heavy steel doors that led outside.

Out, to the wide, open world and a night sky Mal hadn’t laid eyes on in years. He didn’t notice he was shaking until they stopped. Blinking rapidly, his vision strobed. He felt light, fuzzed at the edges, like he was about to pass out.

The pressure vanished from the back of his neck. Replacing it, a hand curled around his upper arm. Skin to bare skin. Warm skin, and slender, strong fingers. Though Teddy's hands were smaller than Brooks’, one of them still managed to encircle the entire circumference of Mal’s bicep.

There just wasn’t anything there anymore.

Side by side, Mal figured he stood a good five or six inches taller than her, but she probably weighed more. She sure as hell could’ve picked him up if she felt inclined.

“I got it from here,” she said, to Brooks.

A nod. “Sure. An’ listen, you change your mind, you can always drop it back off. Teddy, right? No questions asked.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, alright,” Brooks said. “You got my number if you need anything—” A pointed pause. “Y’know, anything—handlin’ advice, someone to share a drink with…”

Grimacing, Teddy shot Brooks a look that would’ve vaporized a weaker man on the spot. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I got it.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Brooks took the hint. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”

Eyes the color of dark amber settled on Mal’s face, and this time he visibly grimaced at the attention. Swallowing hard, he tried unsuccessfully to push back against rising anxiety as Teddy addressed him directly.

“You try anything and I’ll break both your legs, and drag you the rest of the way to the truck by your hair. Got it?” He nodded.

Yeah. Mal got it. And his tentative hopes for ending up somewhere even marginally better than here dwindled by the second.

Warm, sweet smelling night air folded around them as they stepped outside. Grumbling to himself, Brooks turned and vanished into the compound without a word, not even sparing a glance back.

He’d probably agonized more over tossing out an old pair of boots. Or getting shot down by a cute hunter.

With a sharp bang, the doors pulled closed behind them. Sighing, Teddy tightened her grip. Something Mal couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Disgust? Anger? Whatever it was, Mal blinked and it was gone.

“C’mon. I wanna beat the sunrise home.”

AN: Annnnnd we're about to start really getting into the meat of it. I actually planned for more to happen in this chapter and had to shove that in the next one, and this still ended up 3x longer

Next chapter we get to meet Will, the other half of the hunter duo

Taglist: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

#whump #vampire whump #whumper turned whumpee #vampire whumpee #original writing #salt ocs #salt oc: mal #salt oc: teddy #misc aus #wyn i'm tagging you since you said you wanted to know when I post these things LOL #i'm going to impulsively post this tonight #and prob find a million errors tomorrow #i'm flying by the seat of my pants here #these are off the cuff #also some of the meanest stuff I've posted on here so far I think #you want whump? i'm giving you whump #my writing #vampire hunter au

[coveredindaisies]

You're sitting next to me sobbing. I'm holding you and trying to console you as you pour out your heart. All the things that are happening to you are overwhelming you. You've reached your breaking point. Why did he have to cheat? Why aren't you enough? Why did things have to go to shit with your roommate? Why did you have to move out from the house you liked so much? Why doesn't anyone understand you? I whisper to you softly "I know. I know. It's going to be all right. I've got you." Secretly I've never found you sexier than you are in this moment. Broken and distraught. Your pretty face streaked with tears. You look up at me and your just a scared little girl again. You pick up a small wooden box with a skull design on the lid sitting next to you and hand it to me. "Please just make it all stop." You beg between sobs. I open the box and instantly my face changes. I'm no longer a man trying to comfort his best friend during a difficult painful time I'm now a ravenous predator licking his lips as he eyes his prey. I can see the fear on your face as you struggle to make the next words come out. Your voice is shaky and you're visibly trembling as you speak. "I don't care how bad it hurts or what you do to me I just need it all to end tonight. Please I'm begging you. If you ever loved me or cared about me give me the release I need." I pick up the knife from the box and slowly slit the dress you're wearing and pull it off of you. I don't trust myself to speak. The mix of emotions coursing through me is too much. You can see what I'm going through written on my face. You lie back on the couch arching your back. Your perfect body displayed in the moonlight is more than I can resist and you know it. I straddle you and slowly press the tip of the blade down into your stomach. You gasp as you feel it sink slowly deeper and deeper into you. The pain is worse than you imagined. Involuntarily you start to reach for the knife but one look at the darkness in my eyes changes your mind. You're biting your lip trying not to scream as I pull the blade back out of you. Your eyes lock onto the blade as your blood drips from its tip. Dark crimson blood is welling up from your stomach. You gasp again as I push my throbbing dick deep into your tight wet pussy. Fucking you slow hard and deep as I plunge the knife into you again and again. Slamimg my cock against your cervix with each thrust. Savoring the way your insides clench me involuntarily with each new stab wound. Soon your body is covered in a dozen wounds. We are both bathed in your blood. You still refuse to scream, determined to die on your own terms, but the pain is overwhelming and you can't keep from crying. So far I've been careful to avoid major blood vessels so you won't die quickly. Now staring deep into your eyes I slip the knife between your ribs and puncture your left lung then again to puncture your right. I swear I see the faintest smile cross your face as your breathing gets ragged as you begin to drown in your own blood. You're shivering from loss of blood. There's blood at the corners of your mouth as you struggle to breathe. Your arm reaches frantically for something on the table above your head. I look and see a little purple stuffed bear. I pick him up and hand him to you. You clutch him tightly to your chest. You're mouthing words at me but I can't make them out. Finally you gasp "Please." "Finish." "Me." I move the knife to your throat but I don't cut yet. Instead I place the handle in your hand and wrap my hand around yours then move the blade back to your throat. "Together" I whisper. You smile weakly and your throat is opened. The spray of your blood onto my chest drives me over the edge and I cum deep inside you as you fade away. I can't let you go so I cradle your dead body for a long time. Finally I tear myself away after kissing you goodbye. I reach back into that little wooden box you handed to me at the beginning and pull out a braided lock of your hair. I will keep this piece of you with me. As I walk out the door I'm the one with tears in my eyes.

You expect me to follow that up with words? oooffff 😵‍💫

#everyone better realllyyyy enjoy this #a work of art right here #…. woah anon #anon ask #anon <3 #autassassinophilia #autassasin #paraphilia #corpse #erotophonophilia #autoassassinophilia #rough cnc #knife play #pain play #cnc k!nk

[behave-like-a-ghost]

sleep

how do you find sleep?

close your eyes, quiet your mind, and you’re off?

half an hour of meditation videos?

pills that are supposed to help you sleep?

pills that aren’t supposed to help you sleep but seem to do the trick anyway?

twisting and turning and wishing until your exhausted body finally gives way?

i think about what it’s like to be stabbed

the same every time, like a ritual

in the back, knife angled to slip between my ribs

would i feel it puncture my lung?

would it make a sound when the hilt hit my skin?

the space underneath would be empty and hollow

until it started to fill with blood

i have been cut before

with dull blades that burn

like every single cell is wailing

mourning the way they were ripped from one another

the first thrust is slow

the blade, the guiding hand, my skin all learning to sing together

but the second comes faster

soon the knife is a blur

plunging, cutting, ripping

does it hurt the whole time?

can i feel each one?

or does my body attempt some mercy and fade out the sensation until i am numb?

the wielder is nameless and faceless

never do i turn to see them

somehow i know they have a reason for this

i have earned their ire

peace like i’ve never felt soothes me

knowing that whatever i did wrong

i finally paid

i loop this scene over and over again

trying to imagine in visceral detail

until sleep takes me

sometimes i just have two melatonin gummies and put on judge judy

#poetry #original poem #tw self harm

[atimeforstars]

When the Soviets experimented on Bucky, reprogramming him to become the WInter Soldier, do you think they taught him charm? Did they program him to smile? To laugh? Charm, to endear? 

They taught him to use so many weapons, we see a range of guns, and rocket launchers, and disk grenades. All sorts, all used to maximum deadly effect. And charm is definitely a weapon, if you use it right. It can get you into places, earn the trust of a target. It’s useful when finding a convenient alcove or massacring a room aren’t viable options. 

We know they must have in the comics. One of the very first missions the Winter Soldier is sent on, he joins a group of American and British Soldiers, who think they’re one of them and let him into West Berlin. He spends the night with them in a bar, before their jeep mysteriously overturns in the morning.  

We are told he lost everything when he was recovered, and that they wiped his brain of anything else. So they obviously taught him some sort of social skills, and enough to allow him to join this group within the same night of meeting them. 

A charming assassin, one that could not only strike from afar, or clear a room with a rain of bullets, but also get his target to trust him, now that would be valuable. But an assassin that the Americans, the West, accept as one of their own? That they drink with, laugh with, let into their trust? That’s more than just valuable, that’s a golden opportunity you definitely don’t throw away. 

So. 

Imagine you’re a diplomat. It’s a big party, a ball, you know the ones. It's for "business", really, but behind closed doors, it's an excuse to show off and drink more than you should. You and your group hit the bar early, and soon enough you’re feeling warm and happy, talking and laughing and chatting away. 

You come back to the group from the bathroom, and you’re introduced to a young, handsome man. A strong gloved grip, a sharp jawline, combed hair and a warm Brooklyn accent. Introductions are kinda par for the course, it's that kind of party. You ask him where he’s from, and he laughs, gesturing somewhere in the throng, and starts telling a story that has you and your group laughing in a few minutes. You’re not sure who he came with, but this is your fifth glass and, honestly? At this point, you don’t care. He’s charming, he makes small talk, flatters the women, and laughs along with the men. 

James, he introduces himself as, and in no time at all it feels like you’ve known each other all your life. 

The next time you try to stumble over to the bar, he laughs, and puts a hand on your shoulder, and declares to cheers that it’s his turn to get everyone a round. Well, it's a free bar, but your legs thank you for the rest and you stay standing around laughing with the others at some crude joke the ambassador for Austria just made. You didn’t quite hear the punchline, but you find yourself laughing nonetheless. 

You take the drink James gives you, down it like all the others. 

Soon enough it’s getting late. You feel a little woozy, and you could kill for a smoke right about now, and, laughing, your new friend joins you, with a warm smile and an arm around your shoulders. 

The air outside is crisp, and it's lightly snowing. James offers you a light, and you readily accept, and before long it's just the two of you, out the back, leaning against the concrete wall, blowing smoke into the air.

You’ve taken two long drafts of your cigarette, eyes closed as the crisp night bites at your cheeks, when you feel the knife slide between your ribs. You choke on the smoke between your lips, pain flaring in your side. You swear sharp metal of the knife feels as cold as the snow that falls on your cheeks and catches in your eyelashes. 

You turn to see James, the mystery man that smiled, laughed, flirted and flattered. Twisting the knife deeper into your side, and plunging a second into your chest.  

As he stares into your face, and you stare back at his, gaping, you realise.

His eyes.

All through the night, despite the laughing and the smiling, it never quite reached his eyes. They’re cold, and dull, a steely blue. 

And deep inside, maybe a little sad. 

Not James. The Soldier.

And if his cold, hard stare falters for a moment when his eyes catch the old war medal on your chest, the one from your granddad, the one you’ve always worn to these, ever since you were sixteen, then what about it? You certainly wouldn’t see it, as you waste your last breaths begging for your life as the blood begins to flood your mouth. 

Because, really.

Why would he care about an old medal from the 107th?

#mcu #marvel #mcu meta #marvel meta #bucky barnes #winter soldier #angst #my meta #my writing #i had a line about how war draws lines #and those lines not only place people on the other side from you #marking them as your enemy #but also make make it easier to accept people as one of 'the good ones' #one of the ones on your side #so it might have been easier for the soldiers at the bar in Berlin to see The American rather than the Winter Soldier #they *wanted* someone to trust #couldn't quite work it in tho

[jinx-blackout-84]

There is a notebook on your bedside table

It is full of words that you will forget are yours

They swirl in your handwriting, shaking right where you would,

And you forget that you were the one to put them there.

You forget the dark nights when your mind is too loud for sleeping

Where you feel a heavenly light clawing from your chest

You wonder, sometimes, if everyone else feels it too,

That building pressure, one that says one day you will do something great

You wonder if they have to deal with knowing

That if they do not change the world they may just die

Somewhere in the world, an artist kills themselves

There's an art inside of you

And it's begging to escape

It will pull back your ribs and ask you to plunge a knife right between your lungs

You won't bleed red, you will bleed in watercolor and ink

Even if you did bleed redIt would curl into words you never knew to say

There's something inside of you that is worth more that you ever will be

And it will escape if it kills you.

The saddest thing is that nobody would mourn your death.

They would celebrate the art.

Vincent Van Gogh killed himself.

People do not lament his death or wish he was still alive.

They hang his art in galleries.

They sell his greatest works.

Vincent Van gogh ate yellow paint full of lead and death to make his art

His art killed him slowly, every painting stealing years from him

But people do not miss him

Instead, they sell his art

So you sit in your bed and type into your notes app

You pretend that the world isn't spinning

That your time to be great isn't ticking away

Because if you leave this world without art to be remembered by, you are forgotten

Another artist kills themselves.

Thomas H. Lee was a billionaireI say was because one day he decided not to wake up again.

He was found with a gunshot wound in the side of his skull

Where will they find you?

Your time passes and you are awake far too late

Another artist kills themselves.

You learned far too young that thoughts like these weren't one you shared.

The other kids never liked them.

They thought you were an anomaly.

You were, but it hurt more than you would like to admit to see the other kids get birthday invitations.

You learned when you were older that only some people got share thoughts that hurt between your ribs.

You were not one of them.

So you had to push back against the greatness that was trying to escape

It was futile, like trying to cork a tsunami

You don't get to have thoughts like that when you're so young

Another artist kills themselves

What must you do to deserve your art

When the only way to be an artist is to die?

How can you earn the right to put your broken words onto pages

When the only way to earn that freedom is a gunshot to the temple?

How can you free the art that lives inside of you

When the most significant thing you will ever do is get buried on cold dirt

Another artist kills themselves

You have to hide away the holy light inside of you, burning within your lungs

It sits and waits for you

Because, like you have a time bomb strapped to your back,

You only have so long to be great

Before you decide to die like an artist

And kill yourself too

Van Gogh sold one painting in his life

And then he held a gun up to his head an pulled the trigger

He rots in a graveyard somewhere

Not knowing that the entire world knows his name

So you take a chance

And you pull the trigger

Maybe you'll be great too

#Poetry #Inspired by ours poetica #Tw suicide

[maytheoddshq]

Edison Mitchell. District Five. Score: FIVE.

There was nothing Edison could do that hadn't already been done before.

They had called her in and given her ten minutes to wow them, but expectation was a vacuum that pulled the air from Edison's lungs and the thoughts from her mind. What had she learned? What could she do? What would any of it mean when it came time to enter the arena? What good was a score in a game for your life? Edison almost couldn't move; she was frozen with both the magnitude and the pointlessness of it.

After wasting a few minutes with nothing, Edison moved from the spot she'd been rooted to. She collected two knives just as she'd practiced with Cress. When she'd held them for the very first time, they'd seemed so much bigger, more daunting, but now she felt smaller with them in her hands. It was almost laughable, really, to imagine herself trying to convince the gamemakers that she was a threat. She held the knives anyway.

Edison positioned herself opposite a training dummy and waited for it spring to life. When it did, Edison willed herself not to jump backward and away from the mechanical creature-- the way she would have just a few days ago. Edison swung her knife, but the dummy swerved in reaction. She took a few steps back to recoup the space between them and tried again. The dummy moved off course slightly to avoid the blade. She'd programmed it this way, to react to her movements more like a living tribute would, but Edison was becoming frustrated now.

For a final time, Edison adjusted herself so she was at a better angle and there was enough space between them. This time she plunged the knife in her left hand into the dummy, and it landed. The blade sunk deep into the soft space under it's rib cage-- all brutality and luck. It could've been the liver, or maybe the stomach, Edison had forgotten what was where, but the impact slowed the dummy down significantly. She pulled the knife in her left hand out of the dummy and followed the momentum in closer to the dummy. Edison used the knife in her right hand, lifting it to an area just left of center of its chest. She used the tip of the knife to find a gap between bone and plunged the blade in as deep as she could manage. The dummy stopped moving and looked almost like it had slumped forward. The sudden stop made Edison feel unbearably cold. Is this who she was now?

The knife in her left hand clattered loudly to the ground, but she left the other knife stuck in the dummy's chest. She couldn't bring herself to wrestle it out from where it was wedged, and Edison didn't want the gamemakers to see the tears that were pressing against her bottom lashes. So, without looking to see if there was time remaining on the clock, Edison left, and she didn't look back.

#training score #edison

[yeahimwiththeband]

with the band chapter 18

husband and wife (part 1)

warning: truth telling, new year's eve revelations A/N: izzy learns about george and lydia. word count: 1.8k

Izzy ran out of the party, leaving Meg and Olivia by the bar. She spotted Harry getting into the back of a car, catching him just as the door closed—

“Harry!” He paused, and cracked the door. He looked out at her sheepishly. 

“Izzy,” he said. “I’m in a rush, I’ve got to—“

“If you think—“ Izzy huffed, out of breath, “—I’m going to sit here super oblivious while you bounce to fix everything, you don’t know me.” 

Harry smiled. It was a genuine smile, but it collapsed quickly. He was realizing that he would have to tell Izzy the truth. All of it. He could see it on her face. She was done.

“No more lies,” said Izzy. Harry stepped out of the car and walked towards her. She led him around the side of the hostel, finding a mimosa tree to sit under. Izzy could just see the stars peeking through the branches; it was serene, but she didn’t feel that way. She felt ready. She was bracing herself. 

“Since high school, I feel like I’ve just been watching other people live their lives from far away—from my bedroom above the store. Looking out, living in my laptop. Everyone seemed to be separated from me and I felt like I could never get there. I thought I’d be trapped in that room forever, alone. And then I heard your voice.” 

Harry allowed himself a tight smile. 

“And it was so good for a while. We had fun, right?” The word “fun” felt so cheap to her all of a sudden. Fun didn’t cover it. “It was all so beautiful, all those nights in the arena. But even when I was with the band,” Izzy said, breath catching in her throat, “I was still outside. Even on the inside, I was outside. Because nobody told me anything. I found things out by stumbling on them, finding clues. The tour felt like a crime scene to me and I was always just trying to piece things together. There was this inner circle of truth I was never admitted to. I was with the band, but I wasn’t really with the band, was I?”

“When I called you—“ Harry started. It was the phone call she got back at home, when he tried to warn her about George.  

“That helped,” Izzy said, cutting him off. “But you were still hiding a ton from me.”

“When I told you to leave—“ That night in the arena, when he taught her to dance.

“I remember. But you still didn’t tell me, like, anything.” 

“I was trying to protect you.” 

"Thanks for that."

Harry laughed.

"Everything's perfect now. Ten out of ten."

Harry laughed.

"Five stars."

"I tried," Harry said.

“I’m not a kid, Harry. I know you’re six years older than me, but I’m not a kid.” Izzy thought about her new apartment, the few months she had in her new life with Olivia; the classes, and even the surprise inheritance (if you could call it that—her worthless, but very aesthetic house).

Izzy was grown and she knew it.

She took a sharp breath in, but kept her eyes steady on Harry. She wanted to sound like she felt. “Lydia and George are getting married. A guy I dated seriously for three months, even though the whole time it was super fucked up, is getting married to someone else. Like, just a couple of months after we stopped dating. He’s marrying someone who’s like my sister.” Harry’s eyes glistened. He felt Izzy’s pain. “I want you to tell me everything. I can’t talk to you anymore—“ Izzy said calmly, surprising even herself, drawing Harry’s eyes back up with worry, “—I can't talk to you anymore, if you’re going to keep hiding things from me.” 

It was as if she had plunged a knife between his ribs.

Harry folded forward and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He held his face like that, all lines, hair falling over his eyes, for a long minute. Then he clasped his hands together and looked up at the sky through the branches, up at the yellow mimosa blooms. Faint sounds of music and chatting and dancing from the hostel next door floated over the brick wall. Izzy and Harry could be in there dancing with them, together, if it weren’t for the brick wall of lies he had built up around her and between them.  

“You really want to know all of it?”

Izzy nodded. 

“Please, Izzy—please don’t make me tell you.” 

“Tell me,” Izzy said. She felt bad for him. But she needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Izzy,” Harry said, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you. ‘m sorry for not telling you earlier. I don’t know how to…”

Izzy stretched out a hand tentatively, resting it on his forearm. Her fingers felt cool on his skin. Harry started talking.

…

August, five years ago. Lydia sat on her front steps alone in the evening, on the left side. Her mother would always sit beside her, on the right, and she still left the space open. She sat on the porch to feel like she was with her mom. 

She was supposed to go back to school tomorrow. But she hadn’t packed anything; hadn’t bought any binders, any new pens. She didn’t know what the reading lists were, hadn’t looked up where her locker would be. Signing into the online portal? She high key hated the idea; it seemed seemed absurd to her now. All her friends at school felt very far away, living in a different word—the mom is still alive world. Lydia felt like she was on a new planet all alone. She was barely holding her phone, letting it dangle over the last step. 

A door had opened.

A way out: a friend of a friend of her cousin’s was looking for social media help for a group of artists, and she had been helping them all summer. They were the openers for Jess Harper and they were really good—three girls, three guitars. Folk stuff. Lydia had gone to twelve local shows at local bars, making posts, and getting lost in the music. Her ears rang and rang after every show, and even now. It was a lot better than the deafening silence of grief. She could forget, when she was out. It was loud and crowded and hectic and bright. She needed it—she couldn’t says that she loved it. But she needed it.

And now they were going on tour, across something called the rust belt. Lydia had looked that up, and it meant the southern US, which she had never seen. Austin and Asheville and New Orleans. It was healthy, too, she told herself; she could always talk about what happened with the three girls, who were just a few years older than her. And Olivia and Tara, in Jess’s band, had taken her under their wing. She could always tell the truth with them. They knew about the accident, about everything. They seemed to understand, whereas the girls Lydia was friends with at school super didn’t. They sent her TikTok videos on mourning. Lydia knew they didn’t know what to do. But she hadn't told George yet. Couldn't tell him. She was still lying to him and to everyone else.

Lydia finished the 11th grade. She tried not to dwell on her dad—her dad sitting inside, waiting for her to walk in the door. That's how she pictured him, at least. She thought she should stay for him, like Izzy was staying for her mom. Her cousin Izzy gave up that great college offer—the best school in their state—to stay back with her mom.

Lydia thought she would do that too.

But as the tour got closer, Lydia began to wonder: if Izzy was staying back for her mom, wouldn’t that be enough for her dad—to have his niece around? Couldn’t Izzy be there to support, since she wasn’t going anywhere anyway? And Lydia told herself that she could always come back for Izzy. She could always fix it later. She knew she wanted to escape and she thought it was her only option, the right option. This feels right, she told herself.

It didn’t help that she had developed a crush on the lead guitarist in Jess’s band, who was too old for her. Sometimes she thought she saw him wink at her from the stage, but it could have just been the lights and the bottles. Olivia said it was the bottles. She was always lifting them out of Lydia’s hands whenever she saw her with one, and trying to get her to wear ear plugs; Olivia wore them at every show. But the bottles helped too much—with the grief, and with the ringing in her ears that she always heard no matter where she was now. No one said anything if she sipped responsibly on a beer or three at the show. It’s not like she was smoking or anything. Tara was always able to sneak her something from the bar. She was with the band, and it was okay. 

She texted Ryan, who they were trying to bring in as their new manager: yah. i’m in. He thought she was 18 and done with high school. The woman who did the paperwork was in another city. Who had to know the truth, when it could keep her from so much happiness? Lydia had thought. The next morning, she was gone.

By the next summer, she was doing socials for Jess Harper, working directly under Ryan, who had just started helping them out on the side. The band was becoming real.  

The following summer, she went on tour with them. And finally, finally, finally started dating George. The one she had her eyes on since she first heard him strum his guitar. Harry didn't know how they had started, or how long it had really gone on. But just two weeks into their first, short tour, George had spent all the band’s money—somehow, ALL the band’s money. The merch money. The ticket revenue. The crumbs from streaming. All their savings to cut an album in a real studio. So George had asked for a bailout from his rich parents and he and Lydia broke up. Harry wasn’t specific about that. He just said that it ended. And now, they're married. George and Lydia, husband and wife.

For the first time in her life, Izzy craved a cigarette. She wished she could take a big drag on something: she suddenly understood smokers. The air had grown cool and hung around her shoulders, pushing up goosebumps on her arms. She realized she was sitting in a tightly coiled ball, knees drawn up to her chest.

Harry paused. He reached out and put his hand around her forearm, squeezing. The goosebumps went down. Izzy shook her head. Lydia, trying to fix everything. Trying to rescue Izzy.

“They kept it secret, you understand,” Harry said, voice low. “They kept it to themselves.”

Izzy hadn’t even gotten to that part.

“Did everyone know?”

“Jess knew,” Harry replied.

“You knew.” 

“Olivia didn’t know. She disapproved from the beginning; Lydia knew not to tell her. Lydia begged me not to tell anyone. Izzy, she had no idea that he would try it on with you.”

“Is that what he was doing? Trying me on?” 

“It had been months since they had been together. When you two met at the concert… Lydia saw how happy you were. She didn’t want to take anything away from you. That’s what she always said: ‘I don’t want to take anything more away from her.” 

“Oh, Lydia.” Izzy said. She let her head rest on her knees. Harry reached his arms around her. 

“You should have told me, Harry.” She could feel the secrets expanding between them, pushing them further and further apart. Harry sounded so far away, even though she could feel his breath on her neck. 

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Have you told me everything now?”

Harry paused. Izzy waited.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.” 

Izzy wanted to throw her phone across the courtyard, cracking the screen against the stones. How could Lydia marry someone like George? 

But if Lydia were there, she would have said… Izzy could almost hear her voice. From across the ocean, staring out at the water from California, where she lived with her husband, Lydia could feel her cousin’s worry, and she thought to herself: you don’t know him like I do. 

chapter 19 ->

#harry styles story #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanart #romance readers #love on tour fan fiction #love on tour fic

[primalvessel]

From your favourite demon

“  you should be scared of me. i like that you’re not.  ”  

"Maybe I'm desensitised," he replied, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it as the demon carded clawed fingers through his hair. "One day I'll come in here and you'll take and take and Griever won't deign to stop you and I'll just... die..."

He understood that the voidsent was a threat to his life, even outside of his aether-stealing too because what was there to stop Elucia from taking the very knife he'd used to carve words into his chest and plunging it between his ribs, or drawing it across his throat when Maru was too weak to stop him?

Nothing, really. Except perhaps the demon's appreciation for the convenience of having his meal come to him, assuming he might feel such a thing.

"I should be scared of you," he agreed absently, before exhaling in a long sigh.

Maybe he just wanted to go out on his own terms.

"But maybe I'm just tired."

#chara: elucia #he IS my favourite demon #<3

[huntingingoodwill]

🔪 knife against the throat, ☁️ enemies to lovers/🧸exes with feelings, 👀 forced proximity

with my man jonathan, for spice.

ily hope you have had a wonderful week.

thank u so much hailey :,)) hope this stinky scary crow man fic is to ur liking🥰 ilyyy

send me build a blurb asks <3

masterlist | built blurbs

pairing: jonathan crane x reader

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You’re still beautiful. Radiant, even.” The knife’s cold blade tapped the underside of your chin teasingly. You had just stepped through your front door when Jonathan slammed your back to his chest, holding a knife to your throat as he kicked the door shut.

You slammed your elbow into his ribs, wrestling out of his grip. You snatched the knife away, aiming it at his neck. “Radiant. That seems to happen whenever I’m rid of you, but you keep crawling back. Sneaking into my apartment when I’m not around, lying in wait. Typical.” You knocked the knife against his Adam's apple, gently, avoiding breaking the skin. “You still carry a torch for me, Jonny?” You dragged the knife down to his chest, slicing an “X” into his dress shirt, over his heart.

He chuckled, leaning forward, nose ghosting yours. “I missed you.”

You grinned, wrapping a hand around his neck, pushing him back. You stabbed between his legs, the blade plunging into the wall. Not even a flinch.

He raised his eyebrows. “Your landlord’s not gonna like that.”

“To what do I owe this visit, Jonathan?” You smiled.

“A truce. Come back to me.” He paused. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

You scoffed. “Being your little… partner-in-crime was fine a year ago, but I’ve moved on. Besides, you were an aching bore.” You laughed. “You won’t get me back without a fight.”

He yanked the knife out of the wall, pinning you to the ground. “You never go down without a fight. Why do you think I brought this?” He asked, brandishing the gleaming blade. “Besides the added excitement. Without it, this conversation would be an… aching bore.”

“It’s certainly gotten my attention.” You smirked, pressing a finger to the tip of the knife as he pointed it at you. “You wouldn’t use it on me, though. You love me, don’t you?” You pouted mockingly.

“I think you know we were more than just 'partners-in-crime', (Y/N). Our bond’s stronger than that.” He laughed, the smile disappearing as he grew deadly serious. “We would’ve killed for each other.” He hesitated, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I know I’ve killed for you.”

You looked at each other, silent for a moment before Jonathan whipped his head toward the door. Footsteps, heading toward your apartment. He pulled you to your feet, rushing you into your closet.

He clapped a hand over your mouth, pressing you close to him in the cramped space. The knife returned to your throat, ensuring you wouldn’t move as you watched a dark figure appear in the doorway. Batman. You thought you’d never see him again, having given up your life of crime, leaving Jon behind. He must’ve found out Jonathan was in the neighbourhood.

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing. You felt Jon’s chest heave against your back and you reached for his hand, pulling the knife away from your neck. He slipped it into his pocket, and you laced your fingers with his, squeezing his hand. Like old times. Slowly, he removed his other hand from your mouth, wrapping his arm around your chest, holding you even closer. You sighed, leaning back into him, his presence a comfort as you hid with bated breath.

Your eyes followed Bats as he scanned your apartment, surveying the area for any signs of you two. Your grip on Jon’s hand grew tighter as you watched Batman trace the hole you’d cut in the wall with his finger, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth as he disregarded it, finally leaving your apartment.

The two of you held still for a moment before Jon exhaled sharply, dropping his head into your shoulder, relieved. He looked back up, swallowing hard as his arm still held you tightly, keeping you near. You turned, your chest pressing against his as you glanced at each other, his face illuminated by the slashes of light streaming in through the slats in the closet doors. You hadn’t been this close to him since you left. You remembered now, what he used to look like after close shaves like these, after your sprees. A triumphant gleam in his eye, a wild, uninhibited smile, your expression mirroring his.

He leaned in toward you, pressing his lips to yours gently. You dipped your head down, holding your temple against his chest as he reached out his hand, the one he’d wielded the knife with just minutes before, running his fingers through your hair. Gentle.

“Where to next, Scarecrow?” You whispered, a smile spreading across his face.

“Anywhere my partner wishes, Little Crow.”

#thank u haileyy!!! #love writing these odjfejklf #asks #moots #all hail the bird #jonathan crane #jonathan crane blurb #jonathan crane imagine #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagines #jonathan crane fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy imagines #cillian murphy x reader #dc #dc imagines #dc imagine #the dark knight trilogy #build a blurb asks #buildablurbaskgame

[ptergwen]

if ur requests arent open rn pls ignore this im so sorry but i saw ur post earlier asking ppl to send in angst prompts so i was wondering if u could do the prompt "A is dying and calls B to say goodbye. B doesn’t answer, so A has to leave them a voicemail saying the last things they want to say." w peter parker? have a great day <33

by the time you hear this

warnings: angst, swearing, and mentions of blood and death

a/n: hiiii thank u lovely ! you literally chose the saddest one omfg buckle up

-

peter winces, his gloved hand practically digging into his ribs to keep pressure on them. his chest is so tight that he can barely breathe. he limps through a dark alley and to the dumpster he changes behind before patrol. his body growing weaker, he collapses on the gravel underneath him.

he’s just been stabbed. this isn’t the first time, but it might be the last.

he was supposed to be home for the night already. you two had plans to order takeout and study, sneak in a couple makeout sessions if peter played his cards right. he’d even been on his way to your place when duty once again called.

the security alarm for a convenience store nearby was triggered. peter felt like he should go check it out, so he swung over and did so. he knew he made the right choice because upon his arrival, the store was being robbed.

nothing he couldn’t handle, or so he thought.

a man had broken into the cash register and was in the process of stealing what was inside.

peter tried to reason with him at first, convince him to hand the money over. that didn’t go as expected. peter’s presence only angered him. the more he pressed, the less patient the man became.

he didn’t realize that the man was armed. if he did, his fate might not have been determined in a dimly lit seven-eleven. his weapon of choice was a pocketknife that could do more damage than it’s given credit for.

it happened so fast. peter was caught completely off guard, no tingling senses or fast reflexes put to use.

without warning, peter’s assailant whipped out the knife. peter attempted to block him with punches and ducks, but to no avail. the man wasn’t backing down. he finally jabbed the knife into peter. one, two, three times. it ended up stuck between his ribs.

the man then fled the store, grabbing the money and leaving peter to fall to his knees.

using every remaining bit of his super strength, peter heaved himself up. he’d hobbled out the door clutching his chest, the pocketknife still plunged in him. quiet whimpers escaped him as he fought back tears and tried to navigate the streets of queens.

he was headed to retrieve his backpack, where he keeps a first aid kit for emergencies like this. you’d convinced him to carry one on him at all times.

you’ll normally help peter patch himself up after patrols. you make sure to account for any cuts and bruises with a bandage and kiss to each. peter assures you that you don’t have to. he’s a big boy, in his own words.

you do it because you want to, though. he’s beyond grateful for your tender, loving care.

but, you can’t be there for every battle he faces. that’s where the kit comes in.

“karen?” peter summons his artificial intelligence. he props himself up against the wall, hissing when the knife twists inside him. “karen, please. don’t leave me hanging. are… are you there?” she answers promptly. “hello, peter. how can i be of service?”

he exhales, ragged and shallow. “someone hurt me, karen. someone hurt me really bad.” a sharp pain strikes him and elicits a yelp. “i see. it appears that you‘ve been stabbed,” karen observes. “you’re losing a lot of blood.”

no kidding. peter would laugh if he could manage it.

“yeah, i gathered that,” he quips back. “what, um… what should i do, karen?” there’s a beat before karen responds. “your injuries are very serious, peter. without medical attention, they could be lethal,” she slowly informs him.

lethal? he’s dying?

“would you like me to call emergency services? there’s a hospital located approximately two miles away,” karen suggests. that would risk compromising his identity. “no! no, no. i have a first aid kit,” peter quickly shuts her down, reaching for his torn up backpack. “let me just… i’ll get it out, and you tell me what to do.”

“ok, peter. whenever you’re ready.”

peter literally rips through the fabric of his backpack to look inside. he finds notebooks, candy wrappers, everything except the kit. just his luck.

beads of sweat are beginning to form on his forehead. his mind feels foggy, eyelids heavy. he removes his mask momentarily for fresh air while he continues to search.

after some more digging around, peter pulls out the first aid kit.

“got it!” he rejoices and tugs his mask over his head to let karen know. “karen, i have the kit. what now?” she springs back to life. “great, peter. first, you’ll have to disinfect your wounds. there should be rubbing alcohol inside.” peter nods, ignoring the bile that rises in his throat. “on it.”

his shaking fingers move to undo the clasp on the first aid kit. when it opens up, peter’s stomach drops.

it’s empty.

he’d used the last of his supplies a few weeks ago. you’ve been reminding him to restock it ever since. peter promised you he would, but he never did. he forgot.

“oh my god,” peter chokes out, desperately bringing both hands to push against his ribs. “this can’t be happening. this… this can’t-“

karen cuts in. “is everything alright, peter?” she wonders. sweat dripping down his face, he shakes his head back and forth. “no… nothing is.” she sympathetically replies. “what can i do?”

the bottom half of peter’s suit is drenched in blood. his murder weapon is still buried inside him, twitching every so often. he’s lightheaded, dark spots clouding his vision, skin clammy and pale. a wave of nausea washes over him and almost renders him speechless.

peter always knew spider-man would be the death of him. he just didn’t think he’d lose his life so soon.

“i want you to make a call, karen,” he rasps out. “to 911?” she assumes. peter swallows his bile, blinking away more tears. “no, to y/n.” karen hesitates to dial your number. “are you sure you don’t want me to call-“

peter’s eyes water over, the tears spilling down his cheeks. “n- no, don’t! call y/n. i need… i need y/n, right now,” he begs. karen follows his orders. “now calling y/n,” she announces.

your number ringing offers peter some relief. he’ll be listening to your sweet voice soon enough, calming him and his racing thoughts. you’re truly his rock.

but, you don’t answer the phone. you’re preoccupied, getting ready for yours and peter’s study date.

“i’m sorry, peter. y/n is unavailable,” karen tells him softly, although her words sting. peter sniffles, his whole body aching. “call… call her again. don’t stop until she picks up.”

karen obliges. she dials your number one, two, three more times and is sent to voicemail for each. peter’s faith is dwindling.

“perhaps we should try y/n again later. is there anyone else you’d like to call in the meantime?” karen questions, peter hugging his knees for comfort.

he’s not sure there’s going to be a later.

he could call aunt may, ned, happy. god, the list seems infinite. there are so many people counting on him, and he’s about to let them down now more than ever before.

peter only wants to talk to you. you’ll get it. you accept him for his flaws and mistakes, love every piece to the intricate puzzle that makes up your boy. he owes it to you to explain what happened, and what comes next. you should hear it from him first.

“uh, no. it’s okay. just, um, just call y/n… again,” peter requests. “i’ll leave a message.”

there’s a lump in peter’s throat as the dial tone sounds in his ears. his chest is burning, mask tasting salty from the mix of tears and sweat. he yanks on the end of the pocketknife, successfully removing it from his chest at last. that only causes him to bleed more and sob harder.

“hey, it’s y/n. i’ll call you back as soon as i can. bye!” your prerecorded voicemail answers. peter waits for the beep to start speaking, chewing on his quivering bottom lip.

“hi, y/n/n. it’s peter. sorry i’m running late for our date,” he manages to say without breaking down. “i’m, uh, i’m actually not gonna be able to make it.” there’s a pause. “i got hurt, y/n. it’s… it’s not good. don’t go into panic mode yet, though.”

peter smiles sadly to himself. he can imagine your overprotectiveness kicking in.

“don’t come looking for me, either. you stay your stubborn little self at home, okay?” his voice cracks, silent tears overflowing. “by the time you hear this, it’ll be too late. i… i’m bleeding out.”

almost on cue, peter has to force his eyes from rolling back.

“anyway, that’s not why i called. don’t wanna bore you with the dramatics,” he chuckles, which quickly turns into a dry cough. peter clears his throat before he continues. “i wanted to… to say goodbye. a proper goodbye.”

he leans his head back against the brick wall behind him, gazing up at the night sky. “wish i could do it in person, hold you one last time… fuck, i wish i didn’t have to do it at all.”

peter screws his eyes shut.

“i know you’re probably mad at me, but that’s okay. i understand,” he calmly reassures. “it’s my fault. i should’ve asked for help when i had the chance. you always told me that, and… you were right.”

the line goes silent for a moment while peter catches his breath, practically wheezing.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry i’m doing this to you. i’d stay if i could,” he promises. “it… it just hurts too much.”

his hands drop to his sides. after all the hits it’s taken over the years, his body is giving up.

“i love you… nothing’s ever gonna change that. keep going for me, baby,” peter softly says his final words to you. “karen… end call.”

it comforts peter, making sure you have closure. he’s ready to let go now. he’s moving on so you can do the same.

he always knew spider-man would be the death of him.

“incoming call from y/n,” karen reports, to which she doesn’t earn a response.

it’s too late.

#peter parker #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

[brassknucklespeirs]

A Flicker in the Darkness (Andrew!P.P x Reader) ~ Teaser/sneak peak

MASSIVE NO WAY HOME SPOILERS TO COME IN THE SECOND PART AND ONWARDS SO READ AT YOUR OWN WARNING

This teaser and full part one has no major spoilers, only stuff thought up from my own mind with the help of the trailer and my love for Andrew Garfield so feel free to read this one first off. However the rest is going to be pure spoilers.

You’ve been warnedddddd

;Reader is from another universe in which she has a Peter Parker (Andrew) Spiderman. As his partner in crime and best friend turned lover, she tried to help him fight Harry Osborn only for Peter to be fatally wounded. The rest will come later;

Peter Parker (Andrew) x Reader

Warning: Angst, pure bloody sadness, mention of fatal injuries, later parts will include fluff and potentially more, likely mentioning of mental health, depression, loneliness and will become reasonably dark in later parts, mention of one losing themselves a lot

PG13 just for precautions

The night was dark again, but this shadow held something of a more sinister glow as she sped down the street on the motorbike she so cherished, dodging running citizens left and right. The beating of her heart could almost be heard as she choked back the stressed sob that threatened to spill as her stomach twisted as she grew closer to her destination. The ominous green haze had fallen over the area as she ditched the bike and sprinted towards the pained grunts that could be heard from nearby. The sound was enough for her to pull the hand gun she had stuffed down the side of her pants, preparing herself for anything. The streets were emptying quickly as she ran, her feet smashing harshly along the ground, her adrenaline carrying her faster. A dark cackle filled the air as she rounded the corner, looking upon the Green Goblin himself standing above a bruised and depleted Spiderman. A gasp left her mouth as her feet seemed to stick to the ground out of fear, the sound earning the attention of the sick Harry, his grin growing larger by the second. His hand moved to grasp Peter by the neck of his suit, a strangled grunt coming from his lips as he struggled to raise his hands to grab at the man’s wrists.

“Ah, the guest of honour has arrived just in time for the great finale.” He sneered, baring his gnarly teeth. “Time’s up for you Peter. So unfortunate you’re going to be leaving this pretty little thing behind, such a shame.” The glint of a long knife finally caught the attention of the girl as the man rose it higher for her to see. The fear once coiled in the pit of her stomach seemed to leap from her throat in the form of strained scream as her feet began to move again. The rush made her feel as though she was moving in slow-motion, the gun now no use in her hand, she couldn’t risk hitting Peter. She prepared herself to tackle the green suited man as he made direct eye contact with her. Pain erupted in her chest as he gave one last quiet chuckle and plunged the knife into the opposing man’s stomach. So close she was, within 10 metres, but oh it wasn’t close enough. The anger and anguish that took over her body caused her to see red as he dropped Peter to the ground, his body falling with a thump. Her hand was within inches of the villain who had just driven a knife through her boyfriend’s stomach, her arm now raising to push the gun to his head. But it just wasn’t enough. He cackled again, his speeder suddenly coming into view as it whirled in her ear, harshly connecting with her side. She, too, crumpled to the ground, a moan of pain leaving her lips as she gripped her ribs, definitely broken. The girl glanced up, pushing herself onto one of her elbows. The goblin looked down upon her, so close yet too far away for her to strike, and even then, she was spent.

“I’ll be seeing you Y/N.” He spoke sinisterly before his eyes moved to Peter and back. “Or maybe not.” A crooked smile pulled to his lips as he ripped out a glowing green bomb and turning away. He dropped it between the two lovers as he left, cackling as he went. It fell from above so tauntingly slow as Y/N glanced at her love, his eyes already on her, hooded slightly with the pain he was in. The panic erupted in his eyes as he glanced at it, but not before catching sight of the horror that fell upon her face. In a last bid to express his undying love for the girl, he struggled to shoot his arm out from beneath him, his web shooter reaching for the orb like the hand of a saviour. It flew towards him so quickly before he slung his arm out and away from himself. The girl who loved him watched carefully, her eyes not leaving him as he turned to look back at her mid throw. He smiled at her gently, as if comforting her running mind. He parted his lips and whispered a silent ‘i love you’ which gave way for her chest to clench in pure agony. So close yet so far away. She watched in terror as the orb gave a final beep halfway through the toss. The small orb went off just above the boy and everything exploded with a violent mix of red and orange, the sound of her pained scream slowly disappearing into the white noise.

#andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield peter parker #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker #marvel x reader #marvel #no way home #spiderman nwh #spiderman no way home #spidermannowayhomespoilers #no way home spoilers #spoilers

[majahu]

Scream: Ski Trip

Chapter 9: Fade to Black

Content Warning: Violence

Chapter 8

Word Count: 883

Billy had shoved you to the ground and was straddling your legs so you couldn't move. The toe of his Chuck Taylor's was digging into your left shin, one hand closed around your throat while the other dragged the knife down your chest. He liked playing games, watching the fear creep into your eyes as you wondered if he'd really hurt you. Of course, considering what him and Stu had done to your other classmates, to Tatum, you were pretty sure their threats weren't empty.

"I told you-" your voice wavered as sweat began to build up on your palms, still tied behind your back,

"I don't know where she is".

Billy hummed disapprovingly, squeezing his hand tighter around your throat. "You keep saying that, but I still don't believe you."

"Fuck, man, what if she escaped! She probably called the cops! I can't go to jail, my mom and dad will kill me!" Stu whined.

"Relax fuckwad, she doesn't even know it's us." Billy muttered, turning his head to glare at his friend, "we just have to take care of our little problem and then we can get outta here."

"What about Sid's dad?"

"We can still frame him," Billy turned back to you, letting go of your throat to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "So, let's say Sid escaped. She's probably on her way to the cops by now.... Thinks I'm dead...." You could practically see the gears turning in Billy's head as he tried to come up with a plan. He was tracing your collarbone with his fingertip now and had moved the knife away from your chest. His eyes were glazed over and you thought maybe he had zoned out, when slowly a smile began to creep over his face. "I've got it."

"Yeah?" Stu leaned closer to the two of you.

"Ol' Daddy Prescott's still our killer, snapped on the anniversary of his wife's death. He came up here early before the trip so he could plan everything, hid out in the woods and waited for us all to get here," Billy glanced at Stu,

"His precious little girl got away, and you and I were left for dead... and poor (Y/N)..." he leaned over you, stoking your bottom lip with his thumb, "poor sweet (Y/N)... you fought so hard..." he dragged the knife up your side now, placing its tips between your ribs, "but Neil was so mad that his baby girl had escaped and he decided he was gonna take it all out on you." He slowly pressed the knife between your ribs and you screamed as searing heat flared up your side.

Billy smiled, "go ahead, babydoll, be as loud as you want. Nobody can hear you."

"Why don't you just kill me now, why drag it out?" You said through tears.

"Because it's fun!" Stu chimed in.

"Stu and I tried to save you..." Billy continued. "But we were too late." Stu flashed you a fake frown, drawing his finger down the side of his face to imitate a tear.

"We killed Neil but we just couldn't stop you from bleeding out."

Billy twisted the knife before pulling it out and you whimpered, wincing in pain. You let out another scream as he buried the knife in your side again and again. Blood spread across the side of your shirt, covering Billy's hands and mixing with the corn syrup concoction that had stained them earlier.

He handed the knife to Stu, "make it quick. Remember what we talked about, stay to the side."

"I got it, I got it..." Stu said, before plunging the knife into Billy's side.

"Fuck," Billy grunted, doubling over.

Your eyes grew wide as you watched the two boys stab each other. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten about you; Billy was getting a little too enthusiastic and Stu was telling him to calm down. "Ow! Enough, enough!" He looked at Billy dejectedly.

You had started to back away from the two, using your heels to push yourself across the floor. Billy caught your eye, "go take care of daddy dearest," he said to Stu, handing him the voice modulator and a mobile phone. "I've got this one."

Billy stumbled over to you, now bleeding profusely from a wound that sort of matched your own. Your vision was blurring now, you were losing a lot of blood. You whimpered as Billy closed in on you, too weak to scream. He dropped to his knees next to you, pulling you towards him, "where are you going babydoll, we aren't finished yet."

Your breathing was shallow now and your eyes were half closed. "No more," you muttered, "please". "Don't worry (y/n), we're just setting up the final scene," he lifted you up and cradled you to his chest. You winced as he pressed his hand against your wound,

"I tried to save you..."

you thought you heard sirens in the distance.

"...but I was too late." He looked down at you, mock pity in his voice.

Darkness seeped into the corners of your vision and you could barely keep focus on Billy's face. Sirens echoed in your ears and you thought you heard car doors slam and distant voices yelling before your vision faded to black.

#stu macher x y/n #stu macher x reader #stu macher #Matthew lillard #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #skeet ulrich #scream ski trip #scream: ski trip #scream fanfiction #scream #scream 1996 #ghostface x y/n #ghostface x reader #ghostface #sidney prescott #tatum riley #randy meeks #fanfiction #my writing

[searidings]

....🥺 can you please tell us more about that season 5 alternate ending where andrea ends up using the dagger pretty please, just like who does she end up hurting and the others reaction? if only you want to of course !

hooookay this ask got me to open that wip for the first time in a year and actually it's not that far from being complete! but idk how to finish it and i feel like i've done the s5 conflict resolution thing in multiple fics now like how many is too many? i fear i may have hit that limit. BUT since you asked, here is the beginning of it. please note:

1) this thing is angsty and also it's unfinished, so read at your own peril

2) because i wasn't ever expecting to finish/publish it, i've recycled bits of description from it into other fics. so if you see stuff i've repeated elsewhere no you don't <3

-

The last thing Lena sees is a flash like dark shadow pass over Andrea’s eyes, before a kryptonite dagger slides between her ribs.

The sound she emits is less of a scream and more of a surprised squeak as she sinks to the ground.

If you want to get to Supergirl, you’re gonna have to go through me.

It’s not that she hadn’t believed Andrea would do it. Lena was under no illusion of safety when she placed herself between Supergirl and the glowing green rock in Andrea’s hand. She’d come to terms with the possibility of dying for Kara long ago.

What she hadn’t been able to prepare for was the pain. The abstract of sacrifice was all well and good, but. Reality, this searing epicentre, a point of white hot agony turned molten, seeping through her body. No amount of her mother’s decorum training had prepared her for this.

Something is filling her mouth, thick and dark and oozing. She can’t scream. Kara sits, eyes silver, a world away. Kara. Lena has to move. She can’t. Andrea steps over her, and is that the pounding of receding footsteps or the dogged beat of Lena’s heart? Either way, it’s slowing. Every inhale cracks her body down the centre, each exhale buries shards of glass inside the gaping wound.

Her eyes are beginning to mist at the edges but she strains, listens. The sound that cuts through the haze is not the scream she dreads, Kara’s agony as her veins sear emerald. It’s not a scream, but a shout, and then a blur passes over her like light and shadow.

Concrete cracks, or perhaps it’s Lena’s ribs. Sounds are muffled now, the world dulled down like the inside of a snow globe. Underwater, time passes sluggishly to where she lies, drifting, encased in glass. But someone is fighting the current, resisting the pull. Hands grasp her shoulders, burning where they touch. Through the rolling fog comes Kara’s face, blurring out in red and blue and gold and sickly green. Lena wants to push her away, keep her separate from the venomous substance protruding from her chest, keep her untainted. But Kara’s hands are dancing there-away along her cheeks, her jaw, Lena’s own name sounding from her lips over and over, a siren song, calling her home. It’s raining now, wet spots peppering her brow, or maybe the sun is crying.

“Lena, Lena,” Kara is saying. It sounds like her heartbeat and she cannot bear for it to stop.

“Kara,” she manages, a whisper, a prayer.

Her face flashes within Lena’s line of sight for one perfect moment, and is she green-tinged or is it Lena’s failing vision? A shiver passes through the air between them, I’m sorry fluttering like a bloodstained white flag but whether it falls from her own lips or another’s, Lena cannot say. Then a sudden pressure at her ribs, a heavy push and release that feels like salvation and damnation all at once.

Lena hears a scream, two screams, billions. She is left gaping, open and exposed. Invaded by the air and exalted by the sticky-sweet blush of her own blood, her body purging itself. Through the slick of gathering crimson her head rolls to the side, darkness pressing in around her, eyes blazing with the final image of a limp hand on the ground beside her, veins shot through with glowing green.

-

For a long time, there is only darkness. The deepest blackness she has ever known, all-encompassing. Devouring light, thought, feeling. Lena floats, tethered to her own existence only by the pressing weight of the dark, closing in until the end of the world.

Slowly, sensations begin to blur in and out. Cold, a deadening flow, hooking into her very marrow and stripping her from the inside out. She drifts, and then there’s heat, scorching, radiating out from her ribs in scalding waves, and she wishes for numbness.

For a moment, Lena thinks she sees the star-burst of veins behind her eyelids, but then they are gone and all is black again. Sound fragments filter through her peripheral awareness. A great noise, banging and shouting and exploding. She slips back under.

Vibrations reach her, but they must be sounds because Lena no longer has a body with which to feel them. She floats, untethered, sinking beneath the surface of a dark ocean so vast it surely cannot know she’s there. In the deep, voices flicker.

“Haven’t you heard that you’re supposed to leave the knife in? She’s minutes from bleeding out.”

The blackness turns to blood around her, not vibrant red but sticky dark, the kind so loaded with the very force of someone’s life that it moves slowly, crawls under the weight of it, sucking light from all it touches.

“Her veins were green, Alex.”

An eternity passes.

She dreams of her mother, dark hair fanning behind her as she cuts through the still waters of the lake. The scene is calm, but the growing dread means Lena knows what’s coming and suddenly it’s not her mother but Kara before her, and the lake isn’t clear but radioactive, glowing green, and still Lena stands at the shore and watches her slip away, helpless.

Words float through the haze and Lena wishes she could reach out, grasp them, weigh them in her hands to know the truth behind them. Radiation and poisoned and flared and gone, the sounds making physical shapes in the darkness. She thinks of a child, two dark-haired children, of hours spent pouring over a dictionary. A cruel laugh when she got a definition wrong, grudging silence when she got it right. How she wishes now to be wrong, to mishear, a stay of judgment on the world these words conjure into being. But the focus is gone, and she slips away again.

“—whatever you have to do! Or so help me, I’ll—”

Though Lena is nothing now, just an exhale in the wind, she smiles. Warmth blooms, the blackness not crushing but caressing for a moment, and she drifts into memories of happier times.

A million years pass, a billion. Lena is upside down, and right way up, and no way up at all. If she still had a face, she might feel the pressure of a warm forehead against her own. If she still had hair, the imprint of lips pressed gently against it might still ache. If she hadn’t burned every meaningful bridge in her life in the year before her death, she might believe the trick of a whisper wrapping on the breeze, words of comfort, of promise.

But she had, so she doesn’t, and time collapses in on itself as Lena watches, motionless and alone.

-

Though she has always been nowhere, she can feel herself drifting further and further from the last thing that might just resemble a somewhere. The eons slow. If she were a doctor, Lena thinks, then this would be the time to make herself comfortable. To say her goodbyes.

She cannot look at blackness any longer, cannot bear the glowing green after-image that seems to stick to every corner and edge. She thinks of blue, of rain-washed skies and Kara’s eyes, conjures it into being with every fibre she has left. Wraps herself up in it, plunges headfirst, drowns.

“Like it matters!” Kara says, no, shouts, from somewhere far above and below her. Lena would flinch, if only she still had a body. The voice rings out through the void. “Like any of it matters now.”

Lena is privately inclined to agree. She tries to breathe, but the full weight of the universe, of every universe, presses in. As everything, even the blackness, dulls, there emerges a crushing, cracking suffocation, and Lena wonders why she can’t even die in peace. A high-pitched scream, maybe hers, maybe Kara’s, maybe her mother’s, maybe the world’s, stretching out before her like a pathway. Though there’s no doubt where it ends, Lena almost wants to follow it, if only to escape this sensation of being crumbled, submerged, denied life as its very essence is wrung from her being.

And then a hundred trillion bolts of lightning shoot through her at once, and Lena is gone.

-

When she wakes, she wakes secure in the knowledge that she must be alive. Sure that the pain that had burst through her, blighted every nerve with an agony so intense she feels its phantom grip even now, could only lead back to life. Sure that no departure could hurt that much.

When she wakes, it is through cracked, dry eyes to the sight of pipes and ceiling vents, the bland, industrial grey that can only denote underfunded government property.

When she wakes, Kara is standing at the foot of her bed, hands behind her back and looking every inch the righteous hero, and Lena’s unsteady heart sinks. She’s been on the receiving end of this authoritative pose more than enough for one lifetime. At least her hands aren’t on her hips.

But Kara’s eyes brighten as they meet Lena’s fluttering gaze. “Lena.” Quiet, reverential. “How are you feeling?”

Lena takes stock. Alive, to begin with. Every limb still intact. Aside from an unnerving constriction in her chest and the fact that her blood feels a little like it’s burning her cells as it courses through her veins, it could certainly be worse.

When she speaks her voice is hoarse, cracking. “What happened?”

The same darkness creeps into the edges of her vision as she listens to Kara list the extent of the damage. She presses her lips together, willing away the blackness, registering only snippets.

Stab wound. Kryptonite poisoning. Collapsed lung. Cardiac arrest. Resuscitation.

Leviathan, gone. Andrea, captured. Lex, escaped.

The words wash over her like a freezing tide, and Lena wonders if maybe the darkness had been easier after all.

It takes far longer than it should for her to realise that the room has fallen silent. Kara is watching her, concern etched into her features like tears carving through stone.

Lena swallows as best she can. “And you?”

A corner of Kara’s mouth quirks up. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

But she doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, her face drawn, blue eyes lacking their characteristic shine. Even her hero’s stance can’t mask the fatigue weighing heavy on her shoulders.

But Lena doesn’t have the strength to argue the point. She rolls her head to the side, joints popping and releasing, noticing for the first time the tangle of IV lines threading into her skin. She lifts her other hand to touch them, feels the warning tug of more needles even as Kara steps forward, arms raised as if to stop her.

Her hands reach toward Lena, or at least, the spaces where her hands should be. Huge white dressings swaddle Kara from the wrists down, so bulky they do not resemble hands at all. Lena’s breath catches in her lungs as she takes in the unwieldy bandages, third degree burns and possible nerve damage echoing through her mind and she understands now why Kara had hidden them behind her back.

The inhale she aims for seems to stick in her ribs and she can feel again the crushing, the cracking, the dizzying lack of oxygen as her head spins. Kara is by her side in an instant, radiating warmth and just breathe, Lena, it’s okay, a comforting weight settling against her hip. Lena thanks the thick blanket for blurring the press of rough bandages where there should be warm skin, softening it into something just nondescript enough to be calming.

When her pounding pulse has slowed, the heart monitor downgrading to a less frenetic beat, she sucks in a breath despite her lungs’ protestation, waits for her vision to clear. Kara is still there, and dread opens up in Lena’s chest.

“You— you touched it. The kryptonite. You pulled it out.”

Kara doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just nods, her gaze locked on Lena’s own. Lena lies catatonic, paralysed with the knowledge, unable to move even as Alex enters the room. Dimly aware of low words exchanged between the two sisters and then Alex at her bedside, gentler than Lena’s been worthy of seeing her in years. Just rest, Lena, the press of a button on the IV monitor, and she sinks back into oblivion.

#i wrote this immediately after the s5 finale (clearly) and before i finished it i got the idea for 'with the birds' and blasted that one #and then i was just like well. i've just done kara and lena's whole big reconciliation arc. do i really want to do it again #even though the premise of this one is different and reading through it again today i still quite like it #but i just don't know. i don't want to redo the same theme constantly and also i haven't thought up a satisfying ending #but there's 16k words written so like. i guess i should never say never #who knows #anyway thank you for your interest! i'm touched that you would care about this idea #and i hope you like this beginning! though as i said. it's angst city #i've just never recovered from that scene you know? #lena standing between kara and a threat whispering 'if you want to get to supergirl you're gonna have to go through me' #has anything sexier ever happened in the history of the moving image i'm not sure #truly the fic basically writes itself #anyways. bon appetit i guess #hope you're having a wonderful day #asks #anonymous #ridings writes